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Questions

I heard something this morning that really resonated with me. I heard it of course on Sunday Morning (at this point I think CBS should be sending me a check for promoting their show). There was a segment on an artist who makes amazing collages out of dollar bills. His name is Mark Wagner, his work is incredibly intricate. (Google him, amazing work!) During the interview he said, “Art happens in two places. In my brain when I’m making these things, and then in the viewer’s brain when they are looking at them.” I never really thought about art in that way. There is the old “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”,  but I never really thought about the very personal relationship between the viewer and the work of art. I of course have a very personal relationship with my work, and the work itself is the result of my life’s experiences, through my mind’s eye, my talent. In the same way when I look at a piece of art my life’s experiences will affect the way I see, relate, or experience that work. It means a great deal to me when someone likes my work, or finds a deeper meaning in it, but I guess I hadn’t put as much thought into exactly how others are experiencing what I create. I am a very self analytical person, and have a fascination with why other people are who they are. The reality is that no two people will experience art in the same way. Dan and I had a conversation just the other day about just this kind of thing.  We talked about how our likes and dislikes are formed, and the fact that some of them we seem to have been born with. We all know how we inherit the color of our eyes, but why is he so intrigued by history? Why art for me? Why was I so drawn to it from such an early age? My kids have been exposed to art from infancy, but I certainly wasn’t. I have very strong reactions to particular kinds of art as well. I can pick myself apart on a lot of my little idiosyncrasies, but there is much about myself that makes me curious. Why do I love antiques when my sister thinks that they are creepy? Why do I love purple and green, and my daughter red plaid? I know a lot of who we turn out to be is shaped by our parents and our environment, but even that doesn’t account for everything. Do we carry opinions in our DNA? I always wondered if we can inherit body type, why we couldn’t inherit memories and taste as well. Sometimes this kind of thought can lead you down the dog chasing it’s own tail kind of thinking. Sometimes there are no answers, just more questions, but I really do love to ask them.

I didn’t accomplish much today. I’m still short of breath and it makes me tired. I did the unthinkable today, I tried to take a nap. I almost succeeded, that is until my cat Mia decided to do a little mountain climbing up my leg and onto my hip and yodel (well, meow). She left and I tried again, but then the phone rang. No sleep for me. I did manage to finish the front panel on the box, but I am leaning towards upholstering the top. I want it to be a place to sit and read.

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Compromises

There are times as an artist when you feel the need to bend just a bit on artistic integrity. By that I mean working for the almighty dollar instead of for the love of the art. That is where I will be for the next two weeks. I have a show in two weeks at a charter school. I have some pieces ready to go, but not nearly as much as I’d like to have, and these days I need the cash. I have so many small wood boxes and pieces sitting around that I’ve been meaning to get to. Now is the time. I’d like to head in to the show with at least fifty painted wood pieces. It would mean a lot for me to contribute to our dwindling finances. I’m sure many people who know me and some who don’t wonder why at this point I haven’t gotten a job. Three reasons. The first is that Dan hasn’t wanted me to. The second is that I never finished college. I was married, working full-time, and attending night classes when I discovered I was pregnant with Jessica. I was roughly a year from graduating and made the decision to leave school. I had never really figured out exactly what I wanted to do anyway, but I did know that I wanted to be a mother. Now I find myself in the position of not being qualified for anything other than standing on my feet, and when you’ve had six knee surgeries that’s a problem. Finally, I quit my last “time clock” job twenty years ago, again it was about being a mother. Brian was three, Jessica was nine, and I felt the need to be home with them. I’ve made money here and there since then with my art, but the truth is that I’m completely intimidated. Years ago my Mom said that the longer you stay out of work the harder it is to go back. She was right. I know that I’ve mentioned our business that we hope to open, but that will be a work of joy. A dream come true, and of course Dan will be at my side, and that makes me feel invincible. So this is the work I can do, and when I say I’m doing it for the money it in no way means it won’t be my best work. I always do my best.

The piece I’m working on tonight is for a child’s room. A small toy box dedicated to reading. I think instilling the love of books is one of the greatest gifts a child can receive. Each panel of this box will feature a beloved character from a book. I am usually so respectful and careful not to copy the work of others, but this is a one of a kind, one time use, and done in great admiration for the people who created these characters. Only the two end panels are started. The piece had to be sanded and primed first. I’ll post the finished box tomorrow.

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Let The Sunshine In

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My personal forecast is looking a little gloomy. I need a little sunshine in my life. Yes, I live in Southern California. I’m sure those who live on the East Coast are crying their eyes out for me right about now, but its true. I’m still wheezing, and honestly afraid to go to the doctor. I’m afraid that it just might be pneumonia once again. Meanwhile I am not only hitting the one year mark of this project, but we are closing in on a year of Dan not having a job. On the positive side, the reason it is only gloomy and not a Snoopy-esque “Dark and stormy night”, is that this might just be forcing us into a plan for what we have wanted all along. A business where we can work together. I’ve mentioned our business here, but we had kind of let go of the dream in the last few months. I think worry and stress began to get the best of us. Money as always is the biggest issue, the economy is still not fantastic, and of course the fear of taking the plunge. The one thing I know for sure is that we can do it as long as we are together, because again, it has been a year, and not an argument in sight. I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I should rule the world, and while that is still true, I am perfectly happy to let Dan be the boss in our business. We will as always be partners in every way, but I know my strengths as well as my weaknesses (Yes, I do have a few…just a few), I know his as well. There is also an old saying that my Mom often used, “Too many chiefs and not enough Indians”. (Sorry Native Americans, no offense intended)  I want to make sure that the people who work with us know that there is an order to things. A business can’t survive without that. So there’s a plan, kind of, but enough to reassure me that things can change, and a bad situation might just be the ticket to making our dream come true. (Dan, this one was for you.) We need to make our own sunshine…so I did just that.

I love watching Sunday Morning on CBS. In particular I like all the creative ways that they end each segment with a sun done is some creative manner. This is mine, a paper mache sun, painted in acrylic. As for last night’s project, I did some work on it earlier, but fumes began to upset me. There’s always tomorrow.

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Feverish Perspective

Still on the mend, but slowly feeling better. I wanted to do something today for my Dad for St. Patrick’s Day. In 1956 he left Ireland with all the big dreams that young men have. Heading to Canada in the bottom of a ship, taking a chance on a better life. My Mom followed about three months later. He was just short of his twenty-fourth birthday, my Mom was only nineteen. I can’t imagine the courage it took to leave home and family, to leave everything they knew, and jump head first into the vast unknown. Then just four years later to do it yet again and move to Chicago. Another new country, starting over, except that this time they did it with two children and a third on the way. Amazing. Happy St. Patrick’s Day Dad.

My brain is still foggy from my head cold, and this relentless fever, my perspective is again my own private torment, but it’s St. Patrick’s Day, so this one’s for Dad. He grew up above his grandmother’s fruit and vegetable store on Dominick Street in Dublin. I saw it once many, many years ago. I don’t remember much so most of this is imagined, with the inspiration coming from a watercolor book on Ireland. Finally, to end this post a little tale to amuse one and all. The little tree wasn’t in my original sketch. There was a man on a bench. (Before I continue remember that I am delusional with a low-grade fever.) When I was just about finished I realized that he was so out of scale, so out of perspective, that he looked like one of the “wee” folk, you know a leprechaun. I turned him into a bush. Artistic improvisation at its best.

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The Time Nears

The year nears its end. On April 13th, 2013 I began what I thought was an insurmountable task, 365 days of art and writing. I can finally see the finish line of my personal marathon. What a year. Started only a week after my daughter’s wedding (Happy almost-Anniversary Jessica and John!), I have seen my daughter happier than ever, my son Brian moving out to begin his adult life, and my Dad moving into what will most likely be his last home. Of course there is also the fact that Dan and I are struggling. Not on a personal level, this year has made us closer than ever, but it has now been nearly a year since he lost his job, that’s a tough one. I had imagined big changes in the course if this project but never anything like this. As a result I haven’t dedicated as much time to this project as I would have liked, but there were other very important priorities. Dan has always been my rock, my greatest champion, and the best thing that ever happened to me. It has been my turn, my honor to try to be the same for him. A couple of people have asked what’s next for me.  I’m not sure. I will admit it will feel nice to take a night off because with the exception of a case of pneumonia, I haven’t done so for a year. I do think that this project has become such a part of my daily routine that it will seem odd without it. I won’t quit writing, and I’ll never quit art. I have a month to think about what to do next.

A year ago I wouldn’t be as confident as I now in my abilities. I was very hung up on not having any kind of artistic training, now I’m not sure I’d want it. I think I do OK on my own. I certainly wouldn’t have posted this rough sketch of Otis, the mischievous Puggle of Jessica and John, but I actually love this. A simple line drawing in pen.

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A Belated “Thank You”

I haven’t been doing my best work as of late. I’ve probably phoned it in more in the last month than in the eleven months prior. We’re still not out of the woods here at home, and the clock is ticking. Worry and stress do not make good creative partners. Tonight I tried to clear my mind and focus on some work. I chose my subject matter for a very particular reason tonight.

I still haven’t sent my mother in-law a thank you note for her gift. I had an idea for something to include in her thank you. Like me, she is a collector. I remember the first time Dan brought me home to his parents house. Two things struck me that night. First was his Mom’s incredible antiques, the second was his Dad’s cooking. Don passed away a few years ago. A hard lesson that so many people learn as they age is to not let things go unsaid. The old cliché about life being short is so true. I have more than one regret about things that should have been said, or done and the opportunity has passed. I am late on my “thank you” to Joyce, but better late than never. I have often mentioned here that I am a really good cook. My interest in cooking started at about age seventeen, but it really took off after I started eating at the Zuckerman house. Both of Dan’s parents were terrific cooks, and in later years it was almost always his Dad that made the meal (except for gravy, Joyce’s specialty). I never told Don what an inspiration he was to me. I eventually had the chance to cook for him, and when he praised the meal I was beyond thrilled. Amongst my mother in-laws collections are some vintage sugar jars with the label “Zucker”,  which is German for sugar. I love her jars, so I made it my mission to find some for myself. One of my other collections is a group of chefs. Joyce wanted to collect them but didn’t have the room, so she began to collect them for me. One in particular always reminded us of Don. I wanted to pay tribute to both of Dan’s parents tonight. One of my Zucker jars, and “Don”, one of my chefs in watercolor. Belated thanks for inspiring one of the great pleasures in my life, cooking. (Oh, and by the way, thanks for the really wonderful son I have for a husband.)

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My Early Spring

We are finally expecting a little rain out here in Southern California I know for some people that rain isn’t very good news, but for me it is more than welcome. Aside from the fact that California is in the midst of a drought, I miss rain. I miss weather. I spent most of my life in Chicago, in hot humid summers, freezing cold winters, but glorious spring days, and crisp fall winds. I’m sure everyone who is freezing in the Midwest and the East must think I’m insane, but for me a little bad weather takes me home. It was overcast this morning and I was sure a few drops might fall from the sky, but by late morning the sun was in full shine. My sister tells me that they are expecting a snowstorm in Chicago this weekend. Dan and I walked this morning in the unusually cool air, and as we walked I, as always, admired the beauty that is around us. Yes we are very lucky to live where we live, where Spring raises her head just a little earlier than most places, but in my heart Chicago will always be home, late season snow storms and all.

Tonight just a little pen and ink, part of a thank you I need to send. The drawing inspired by a terrific book by W.G. Paulson Townsend, “Plant And Floral Studies for Artists and Craftspeople”. I loved the finished drawing, but I also enjoy adding just a touch of color with Photo-shop. Last week a package arrived with a small kitchen scale in it. I hadn’t ordered it, and I was quite puzzled at where it came from, there was no receipt included. After a few days Dan received a text message from his mother. My mystery gift was from her. My mother in law very generously wanted to help with my business, and said I could use the scale to help to figure out shipping. It is a very thoughtful gesture. I plan to incorporate the drawing into a card in the morning.2 26 14 (2)

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Also for tonight a touch of Spring, photos from our walk this morning. The Jasmine is in bloom, as is Iris, and quite a few flowers in my garden. A gift of hope for my family and friends due east.

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The Men In My Life

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My twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is four months from today. If you read this blog you know how much I love my husband. However much I love Dan there are other men in my life. I’m not talking about my Dad, although I do love him. Brian is one of the great joys of my life, but I’m not talking about my son either. There are two men, well maybe three. I believe I may have mentioned two of them before (after more than three hundred posts I just can’t keep track), there is “Bob” as in Redford. I’ve loved Bob since I was ten, even though he is the same age as my mother, and he is looking older. We watched “All Is Lost” last week, and Dan was only too happy to point out how much better he is aging compared to Mr. Redford. I had to agree. There is also “Bob Jr.”, a.k.a. Brad Pitt. Brad reminds me of young Bob, so he too gets a little piece of my heart. My other man is chef Tyler Florence. This isn’t a physical attraction (although he is cute), it’s definitely food related. As I so often mention, I love, love to cook, and I am really good at it, but when I am in a quandary and not sure how to make something, Tyler is my man. He never fails me. Tyler offers me security in my little corner of the world, my kitchen. No need for concern because Tyler’s advice is only a few computer clicks away. I have also mentioned that one of the great things about being artistic is that if I see something I like I can pretty much make it for myself. I saw a photo in a magazine of Tyler’s kitchen. He has a chalkboard wall, I have a chalkboard wall, but he had a pig on his wall, and I loved it! My chalkboard wall isn’t quite as big as Tyler’s, but I also had a large chalkboard hanging in my kitchen. I made my own pig. He is fairly close to Tyler’s, the best I could do from the small photo I had. I had a long day yesterday, not enough sleep the night before, and as I wrote last night, I stayed overnight in a hotel with Dan. Our hotel room had a window that overlooked a parking lot. A parking lot that was lit for the World Series. The light coming in over the curtains was so bright we couldn’t sleep. We were both up on and off all night. I decided to give myself the night off and instead post my pig. Thank you Tyler for the cooking advice, and thank you for my pig.2 25 14

Art In The Dark

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A last-minute decision leaves me traveling tonight, and since it is just a little after seven, I find myself doodling and writing in the dark. As many people know, Dan has been out of work for some time. He has a third interview tomorrow for a job that he is perfect for. It seems strange at times to share our troubles in such a public forum, in particular because we are very quiet and private people. I started this blog only a week after the whirlwind of our daughter’s wedding, I thought that I would continue the life I had known before all the business and planning that goes into such a momentous event was past. Within weeks of that Dan lost his job. A life I never dreamt of began. It has been nearly a year of tremendous worry and change, and as life proves to all of us again and again, plans are dreams and hopes, and it is fate that decides reality. This blog has been along for the ride of my life, the lows from stress, the highs from the gratitude we both feel for the love and prayers that have come our way. I wasn’t going to come tonight. Dan’s meeting is in the morning nearly two hours from where we live. He reserved a hotel room near the interview so as to be there on time, without the horrors of the California morning rush. I wanted to come, but thought he might need a little alone time. He wanted me to come, but he knew I’d worry about leaving our cats (two of them are in a battle for household supremacy), and my regular Tuesday morning date with a Gabby and Kingston. We finally fessed up to each other after dinner tonight. We’ve been in this together from the start, and always will be side by side. I’ll wait in the hotel room praying for good news, but whatever the news it is ours together. I promised a make-up breakfast to Gabby and King, including individual cans of whipped cream. I called Brian to check on the cats. I’m where I should be, driving in the dark, hopefully headed towards some light. No idea where this one came from, just driving in the dark and sketching away.image

Superstitious

I’ve never been to see a psychic. I’d like to say it’s because I don’t believe in psychics, but the truth is that I’m not sure if I believe in them, and I know myself. I have a very active imagination, and as I have mentioned more than once in past posts, I’m Irish. (If you happened to have not read it, it means glass not full, nor empty, because the glass is shattered on the floor.) I’ve always been afraid that if I heard something that wasn’t good I’d obsess. (I’m also phenomenally good at obsessing.) It would rule my life, no matter how much I would try to convince myself that it was nonsense there would be that little corner of my mind that would poke its nasty self into my every waking moment. It’s much the same with superstition. We’ve had a rough year, and the disappointments, bad luck, and struggles continue and seem to have no end. (Dan does have a promising job interview on Tuesday, but I’m honestly afraid to be hopeful.) In the last few days I’ve been writing about the never-ending window projects. I left them alone yesterday, I needed a break. Today with fresh eyes I went back to work on one of them. This would be the larger of the two that I intend to turn into sort of a jewelry/mirror/memo center. A place where you can check hair or makeup, choose your necklace, and read your to do list before you have to run out the door. I coated four of the triangular shapes with magnetic paint, and then on top of that a few coats of chalkboard paint. The two side panels will allow for tucked in memos, I plan on covering them tomorrow and adding ribbon detail, and finally the center, which will become a mirror. Except this, I bought a door mirror to cut to fit the center. I’ve never cut glass. I watched a YouTube video which of course made me an instant expert.  I broke a piece off. Seven years bad luck. Then Dan came in. He has cut glass, successfully, but not this time. Four breaks. So basically right now we are looking at another thirty-five years of bad luck. (Openly groveling for all reading this to wish me good karma.) Do I believe in the superstition of seven years of bad luck for a broken mirror? Seven years times five? Not to mention we have to try again tomorrow!!! I’d like to say no…but there is that nasty little corner of my mind….

So here is what’s happening so far…IMG_5625

I leaned the window against a mirror in my guest room. (Notice the magnet) Still much to do, but I think you get the idea…

…to be continued.